The Fairbanks Foursome Plus One

How Tough Teamwork and Training Triumph over Treacherous Tundra

The "Kramer Death Run," as one participant later dubbed it, was destined to be an epic outing almost from the first step. The long training run by the Fairbanks Foursome, the elite of this remote Alaskan town, preceded the 2002 Boston Marathon by just five weeks and had all the makings of a disaster: bad conditions, nebulous leadership and only a vague itinerary.

After setting out on the southern edge of town, Mike Kramer, Andy Holland, Kevin Brinegar and Wayde Leder soon began negotiating the treacherous footing of a power line road made of ice. Some 10 miles later, dodging Kramer’s hyper puppy along the way, they landed on a major slough of the Tanana River. That eventually turned onto a smaller slough, which led to a snowmachine trail about two tracks wide. That narrowed to a single snowmachine width, deteriorated further and finally ended abruptly.

The Foursome stood around wondering what to do. They were out of food and water after about 2 1/2 hours of running, carried no matches, compass or emergency supplies. Nevertheless, backtracking was hardly an option.

"We kind of knew where we were," said Kramer. Judging their relative position by observing planes flying toward the airport they knew was north, they decided to bushwhack through the woods in 12-inch deep snow. A mile later they emerged on the frozen Tanana River and followed a dyke to their starting point. After 3 hours 40 minutes and an estimated 27 miles, they were home free. The high temperature that day: 20 degrees; the low: 10 below.

Running Wild

Seven months later the participants recounted the run not in horror but with fond memories.

"That was a good run. I always look for adventure," said Kramer, an attorney and former Washington State University runner.

"That’s the kind of adventure that keeps it fun," added Leder.

Holland, a Fairbanks resident since 1975, chimed in, "I felt pretty confident that we weren’t going to die. Some people would’ve freaked out."

Brinegar said he has never laughed so much on a run. "It was awesome. I love the fact that we got lost," he said, adding that he’d have been furious had the group conservatively turned around.

The final member of their training circle, Bill McDonnell, a New England native who coaches the University of Alaska-Fairbanks Nordic ski team, revealed his distaste for misadventures (or good sense) by saying he was thankful not to have taken part in that day.

Hardened by their rigorous training, the fivesome flew 4,000 miles the next month and excelled at Boston, with Brinegar leading the way in 2:33:36. Kramer followed, eclipsing 2:40 by one second, while Leder crossed six ticks later. McDonnell, running in his town of birth, followed in 2:43:56. Holland, the patriarch who’s run every Boston but one since 1988, crossed in 2:52, a year removed from a 2:40 personal best at age 44.

The accolades continued with the team results. Brinegar, Kramer and McDonnell placed eighth of 65 teams in the Open Men’s Division while Leder, 45, Holland, 46, and 43-year-old Joe Trubacz, (2:57:52) were eighth among Men’s Masters.

How, in a town known for dog mushing, the oil pipeline boom a quarter century ago, and as a mecca for viewing the Northern Lights, was their performance possible? How could Fairbanks, with 30,000 residents (83,000 in the extended borough) and a location just 125 miles south of the Arctic Circle, produce so many strong runners? And what’s the quintet’s secret to overcoming the elements during the key Boston Marathon training months of December through March?